


tide

by twokisses



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Intercrural Sex, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22847242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses
Summary: "He’ll have plenty of mornings to wake Simon Snow up in all sorts of good ways. Today, he’d like to do it like this."
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 28
Kudos: 246





	tide

**Author's Note:**

> my first pwp. who's proud of me (probably the discord) (definitely not my parents)
> 
> big thanks to [Sourcherrymagiks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks) for beta'ing this! <3

When Baz wakes up, it's to two of his favourite things: warmth—lovely, thick warmth, the kind that weighs into his skin and seeps right through to his muscles and bones—and Simon Snow in his arms.

It is definitely a coincidence—a wonderful one—that the second of those two things generates the first. In excessive amounts. Far more than just one person needs.

Baz is gladly soaking up the extra. He's pressed as close to Simon as he can get—chest against Simon's back, forearms relaxed into the dip of his waist, calves pressed to shins and toes tucked between ankles. His head has barely gotten a chance to extricate itself from the hazy fists of sleep before the heat of Simon—and the blankets Simon's kicked all the way onto Baz, and the vague sunlight fighting its way into the room around the edges of the the curtains—drags him back down. Not back into sleep, really, but somewhere just between it and total awareness. It's a soft area. Baz doesn't ever want to leave it.

Upon further, meandering consideration of that thought, he also realises that he doesn't have to.  _ It's Sunday— _ that's the first fact that manages its way past the brain fog. And with it comes the realisation that they have nothing planned. There's nowhere for them to be, no one for them to meet. They could stay in bed all day, if they want to. If Simon wants to. (It's already a surprise he's here with Baz at all—he's normally up before the sun is.)

Baz knows  _ he  _ wants to. There's definitely interest stirring in his mind—and, distractingly, between his legs—at the thought of it. It could be more than sex, obviously: they could just lay among the blankets and talk, or listen to some music, or watch one of those awful action movies Simon loves to critique. They could waste time like they have plenty of it. (And they  _ do _ , now. These days. What a luxury.)

At the moment, though, with Simon's body solid and relaxed and warm all the way down Baz's body, and Baz's cock half-hard just from the  _ idea  _ of it—of hours under the blankets, or over it, of hands and hips and no sound but distant traffic and closer, quieter breaths and moans—Baz thinks that those things can surely wait for a bit. He'll have plenty of mornings to wake Simon Snow up in all sorts of good ways. Today, he'd like to do it like this:

He shifts one of his arms up. The slide of his skin against Simon's is smooth and intoxicating (Simon doesn't wear a shirt to sleep, which is a habit from Watford that Baz thanks Crowley for every day). Baz's palm smooths over Simon's bare stomach and then rests there. Baz's eyes are still closed—they have been since he woke up—so he gets to fully feel the slight, reflexive flinch of the muscles underneath his hand at the cold. 

_ So alive,  _ he thinks, dreamily, and then he opens his eyes.

Bronze curls, a whole mess of them. That's all he sees at first, and all he looks at for a while—the charming, haphazard tumble of them onto the snowy pillows. Then more—broad, golden shoulders with their generous sprinkling of freckles and moles. The gentle arch of Simon's back away from Baz, and then the rounder curve of his arse  _ into _ him. He keeps his hips away from Simon, for now, because he doesn't want to take advantage. But he does let himself look. 

And then he begins rubbing slow circles into Simon's skin, the softest parts around his belly button. He leans in and presses his mouth to the nape of Simon's neck. (There's a small tickle against his nose from Simon's curls.) 

It's natural for him to move his head further from there, trailing kisses to the side of Simon's neck and then down along the length of it. Simon's shifting against him now, waking up under Baz's touches. Baz licks at a spot on Simon's neck and feels his pulse pick up under his tongue.

"Mm." That's Simon, voice heavy and thick with sleep. Baz makes a pleased sound right into the junction where Simon's neck meets his shoulder. Then he moves his hand further up Simon's body, from his stomach to his chest. He lets his thumb bump over one of Simon's nipples, and feels the resulting tremor in Simon's body all throughout his own, even though it's so fine a non-vampire might have missed it.

"Baz," Simon mumbles, although he's still so far under that it comes out as more of a buzzing sound than anything. Ridiculously, the thought gets a little giggle from Baz. Simon asks, "What."

Baz shakes his head. Hums to dismiss it. "Nothing."

Then he goes back to what he was doing before. Simon seems to like that. He sighs, and leans back into Baz, and Baz takes that as an invitation. He lets his hips shift forward, pressing himself up against Simon's arse. The pressure is lovely, but even better is the honey-like moan Simon makes at it, and the responding push back against Baz's cock. It twitches—Simon must feel it. He breathes in fast and deep.

"Can I?" Baz murmurs. His hand has traveled back down Simon's front, and is now lightly brushing the waistband of Simon's pants. 

Simon nods (still slow with drowsiness, but emphatic), and he says, "Yeah. Yes. Go on."

Baz does. And he can't tamp down a groan when his hand finds Simon half-hard already, pushing against the fabric of his pants. He rolls his palm against him, once, twice, and on the third go, Simon's hand closes around his wrist. Baz half-expects Simon to pull his hand away from him, but—he's pulling it up, and then pushing it back down, under the waistband this time. Baz makes an encouraging sound into Simon's shoulder. Simon lets out a little breath when Baz's fingers wrap around him.

Simon's big, and thick—filling Baz's palm. The pants get tugged down (by Simon) as Baz runs a loose fist over the length of him. Simon's breathing has gotten a little rougher around the edges, but it must be the anticipation of it more than anything. It's still too dry. Just a tease.

Baz presses the words, "One second," into Simon's jaw, then pushes up onto an elbow and leans over him for the bedside drawer. The lube is right at the top—Baz  _ always _ spells it closed with one of the youngest spells he knows, and hopes to Crowley that Fiona doesn't know it too. He pulls it out, but doesn't manage to shut the drawer completely before Simon's shouldering him back into place behind him.

"Someone's eager," Baz comments. He gets the bottle tugged out of his hand for that. For someone who's still half-asleep, Simon is surprisingly insistent. Baz offers his palm to Simon as he settles back down behind him, lets him squeeze a generous amount of lube into his hand, then rubs it out a bit with his fingers before moving his hand back down to Simon's cock.

His fingers move smoothly along Simon's skin this time. Baz gives him one long, slow, hard pull, right to the tip, and drinks in Simon's low moan—sweet and stretched out like taffy. Simon's hips move to follow the motion. 

That won't do. Baz repositions his arm—the one with the hand pumping back and forth along Simon's length—and uses his elbow to pin Simon back against him. It's not perfect, but Simon gets the hint, anyway. He goes pliant against Baz's chest, except for the periodic tensing in his stomach and hips as Baz tugs him off.

Baz is nuzzling against Simon's neck, nipping at the skin just below Simon's ear. He's aching in his own pants, but he'd be happy just getting Simon off for now. They have all day, after all—Baz wouldn't mind waiting it out, building up the anticipation until after breakfast, or maybe lunch… The thought heats up his blood in an extremely pleasant way.

But Simon's obviously not having the same train of thought. He's reached one hand back to Baz—holding the bottle of lube. Baz's hand slows on Simon's length as he eyes it.

"What do you want, love?" It's practically a purr into Simon's ear. Simon shivers.

"Want you—" A breath (Baz has pressed his thumb into Simon's tip). "—with me. Here." Simon shifts, moving up the bed a bit, and then he lifts one of his thighs up.

_ Oh,  _ Baz thinks. His skin feels very hot.

"Yes," he says, immediately. "Alright."

He has to take his hand off Simon to get the lube from him. The slight tension in Simon's back gives way when he does, like Baz's hand on him was keeping Simon on edge—a good sort of edge, Baz knows, because he's an expert at telling the difference by now.

He's impatient tugging his pants down his legs to free himself. Impatient covering his hand in lube. (The bottle's nearly empty—he'll have to endure another one of that cashier's judgmental looks when he inevitably has to go buy some more. Baz won't apologise for his active sex life, but he could do without the petty annoyance.)

The first slick tug feels so good that he has to remind himself to not get carried away, to get carried off too soon. Simon Snow's lovely, muscled thighs are going to feel so much better. And even though it's unnecessary, Baz wants to, so he does: gets a little extra lube on his fingers, then moves them forward into the snug space between Simon's thighs and slides them against the delicate skin there. Simon isn't expecting that. He gasps at the first touch, twitching slightly. Then he parts his legs further to give Baz's wandering fingers more freedom.

Simon's thighs are one of Baz's favourite (physical) aspects of Simon. They aren't as toned as Baz's, but it isn't hard to feel the bunching and relaxing of his muscles against his fingers. The motions of them, the idea of these sensations around his cock instead of his fingers, is making Baz throb into air.

"Baz," Simon breathes. Baz is just stroking his thighs now, smoothing the lube over and over into Simon's skin. There's obvious impatience in Simon's voice when he says, "Baz. Come on."

Baz doesn't have to be told twice.

It's impossible to hold in a low moan when he finally slides into the snug warmth between Simon's thighs. He spent so long preparing Simon, and  _ fuck _ , it was worth it. Everything is heat and slick perfection. Simon's little noise at the sensation is everything Baz needs from the world at this moment. He tucks his face into Simon's neck and breathes, as he begins to move.

It's good—Crowley, it's good. Baz's breathing is shuddering. Simon is humming weakly. Baz loops an arm around his hip again to take him in hand… and then does nothing else. He just holds him, feels the blood beating under the delicate skin, feels his palm filling up little by little as Simon gets harder for him, as his hips continue to slide less and less steadily between Simon's legs. Simon takes it without comment for minutes. He does squirm a little, and restlessly shifts his hips forward into Baz's grip a few times—but otherwise he just pants, and stays still as Baz moves.

(It still gets Baz ridiculously hot, how Simon sometimes  _ likes  _ to be teased. He wouldn't have expected that from Simon, as someone who's never been known for his patience. But anything can happen in bed. He's found that out.)

Once Baz starts to feel a throbbing in his palm, though, Simon does speak:

"Baz," he whispers, "please." 

The word shoots molten pleasure through Baz's core. He nuzzles his nose against Simon's neck and asks, "Please what?" Because he likes being difficult.

"Touch me," Simon breathes. A suggestion of begging is in his voice. 

Baz hums. "I am touching you," he says, and wonders if Simon can feel the curve of his smile against his bare shoulder.

Then a warm hand wraps around Baz's, and pushes a little. 

Simon says,  _ "Move." _

It comes out in a rumble. In that infamous growl.

And that also  _ definitely  _ gets Baz hot: Simon Snow demanding Baz to pleasure him, in the same voice he used to use to threaten Baz. (He wonders if he's only become  _ more  _ disturbed since becoming Simon's boyfriend. Since they definitively stopped being enemies. That was the last barrier—the last deterrent—to all his sordid fantasies. Perhaps they're all coming out now.)

He does as he's told.

The moan that slips out of Simon's mouth rolls over and through Baz like a wave. Simon's always vocal (polar opposite to him in any other setting. But then again, he's always been better at making wordless noises than talking), and at the moment, his sounds are going to push Baz over the edge. He was already most of the way there before he even touched Simon again. But he doesn't want to finish without him.

He slows the movement of his hips, but keeps on with the motions of his hand. Simon groans and pushes back against him.

"Don't  _ stop _ ," Simon protests. His words come out soft with a mixture of sleep and lust. Baz begins pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck.

"Want to finish with you," he says, hiding the statement in the buzzed part of Simon's hair at the back of his neck. "Tell me, when you're close."

There's another whine, but it's looser and less insistent this time. Simon lets Baz go without further comment, and in waiting for Simon's go-ahead, Baz lets himself get lost. 

Whenever he's with Simon, like this, reality melts into a combination of fragmented impressions—or maybe just one whole, huge feeling. Baz's view is an unfocused snapshot of an adorable mole on Simon's tawny skin. The smell in his nose is a cocktail of sweat and buttery blood and that Simon Smell that he can't explain. All he hears is the bed lightly protesting under Simon's slightly shifting hips, all he feels is Simon pulsing in his hand (the echoes of the same beat thudding in his neck, against Baz's lips), and the drawn-out drag between Simon's thighs that's slow enough to push him away from the edge, but constant enough to keep him teetering close to it.

Eventually—after a blissful eternity—Simon's voice filters back to him, and it's just a breath: 

"Close," he says. Whimpers. "I'm—" Baz doesn't wait, just begins moving in earnest again the moment Simon says it, and Simon sighs his name like a prayer. "Baz—yeah—yes—come on…"

Baz's orgasm builds back up easily, like a tide that was lulling out in deep sea cresting as it moves inshore. The motions of his hand on Simon get jerkier and less steady, but he doesn't think Simon minds—his every breath dissolves into a moan, and he's moving his hips in time with Baz's so all the sensation doubles in intensity. When Simon comes, it's with Baz's name in his mouth. And it's that, combined with the warm spill on Baz's knuckles, and the involuntary clench of Simon's thighs around him, that finally pulls Baz over into pure, mind-numbing bliss.

It takes a minute—a few—to come back down from the high. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he's breathing fast and heavy into Simon's sweaty skin. Simon's shoulders are moving with his own gasps. Baz sighs and lets himself relax completely against Simon's back. It's not the most comfortable situation (they're both slick with sweat, and Simon's legs are going to be very sticky if they don't get up soon to wash off), but for now it's good. It's heaven, actually—any second Baz gets to be with Simon.

Their breathing evens out slowly. Simon tilts his head back enough for Baz to see his lips purse, asking. Baz answers him with one long, firm kiss, and Simon hums happily.

When Baz pulls away, Simon's eyes open—maybe for the first time this morning—and they're twin circles of blue, the colour of swimming pools at noon. They're shining with pleasure and amusement.

"Good morning," he says.

Then he laughs, and Baz is helpless but to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> i sometimes post fics exclusively on [my tumblr](https://sbazzing.tumblr.com/), so if you liked this, you might want to follow me there as well to catch all my stuff!


End file.
